


Room Mating

by QueenyMidas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Living Together, Love, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenyMidas/pseuds/QueenyMidas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco are roommates after Hogwarts, having forged an unlikely friendship. However, after a night of Draco going through his exes to try and figure out where he’s gone wrong in his romantic life, he comes to discover that he could want more than friendship with The Boy Who Lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room Mating

**Author's Note:**

> I’m in a creative rut and hoping this can fix it. TW for gay slurs and mentions of BDSM.

   “I have had it with my father,” Draco announced, storming into the flat and causing a ruckus that stirred Harry from his book. He was just at the part where the older, dashing military man and his protégé kissed in front of the fountain, forever sealing their gay bond so they could go on living happily ever after.

   Draco tossed his winter coat at the magic coat rack that reached over to catch it and left his briefcase on the bench in the entrance hall. He’d insisted on putting one there even if Harry thought it was useless. It created order, for Merlin’s sake!

   Harry, a naturally fast leaner, let Draco do whatever the hell he wanted with the flat. He waited patiently through Draco’s Feng Shui phase when he was up into the odd hours of the night adjusting chi flow and he allowed Draco to swap out the expensive art on the walls at least once a month. Draco had a strange sort of passion for making the world around him beautiful that Harry could quietly appreciate even if it was in interior design.

   Draco liked to call Harry a ‘bad gay’ for not being interested in the subject himself and Harry liked to laugh in Draco’s face.

   “ _Now_ you’ve had it?” Harry asked from the pleather sofa. “So you were cool with all of the dark magic and war crimes, but somehow Lucius has pissed you off by…?” he prompted for an answer.

   Draco, his pale and angular face aghast, turned to look Harry dead in the eye. “He tried to _set me up_.”

   “No fucking way.”

   “Yes fucking way.”

   “With who?” Harry asked instinctually. They were two grown men who liked men living together—but not in a together sort of way—so they often judged each other’s romantic choices. Whether Harry brought home a bloke for one night or tried to make a relationship work with a guy, he always had to hear Draco’s opinion on him.

   Harry had received everything from ‘too tall’ to ‘too much facial hair’ to ‘annoying and juvenile’ to ‘looks like the sort of wimp who would hate loop-de-loop roller coasters’ to ‘for fuck’s sake, this one is just pitiful’. Draco was a picky one.

   Returning the favor, Harry did the same to Draco’s dates. Nobody ever seemed to be good enough for him.

   Draco—oddly enough—was sort of a romantic. He liked traditional dating with sex with strangers in between serious relationships, and other blokes seemed to not get that. They’d either crumple under his demands, cheat on him, or just stop answering his owls. It’d happened one too many times for Harry’s taste, leading him to believe Draco’s taste in men wasn’t too spectacular either.

   “Marcus Flint,” Draco informed him with disgust.

   “Fuck, I haven’t heard that name in so long,” Harry laughed, putting his book down. “Wasn’t he the one with—“

   “With the screwed-up teeth? Yeah. That’s him,” Draco finished the sentence for him. “He’s had some Glamours done to fix the teeth up, but nothing can really fix the rest of him. When I showed up to the restaurant father told me to meet him at for what I thought would be a pleasant evening chatting with my father, he promptly left the two of us alone after receiving an ‘important business owl’ so I had about an hour’s worth of staring at him to do, and it was horrific.”

   “I can’t believe your father actually set you up, though. I know he’s always talked about it, but I never thought Lucius had the gall.”

   Draco kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch next to Harry. “Apparently he does. I’m not finding a ‘nice, rich, pureblood man to settle down with’ quickly enough for his taste, so he’s started to take up the hunt for me.” Draco tipped his head back and let out a forlorn groan.

   Lucius had been desperately trying to cope with his son’s rather obvious homosexuality ever since Draco’s sixth year and one of the ways he normalized it was by equating the heterosexual dating experience to Draco’s. Lucius wanted to play match-maker and get the knot tied as quickly as possible.

   When Draco was finally married, then Lucius could focus on the important things like heirs and the passing on of the Malfoy fortune. Lucius could breathe easy knowing his son wasn’t out copulating with half of queer London, and maybe his new pureblood husband could remind Draco of the ideals he grew up with.

   Oddly enough, that created one thing in common between Lucius and his son’s roommate: they both didn’t trust Draco’s taste in the slightest. During the few visits Lucius made to the flat, Harry liked to side with him on the issue of marriage purely to piss Draco off.

   “So what happened on your forced date?” Harry implored. He wasn’t the most experienced in the ‘having parents’ department, so the ‘having parents that did stupid shit out of love’ sub-department was even more mysterious to Harry.

   Draco let out a whine at the very thought of retelling the story but went on anyway so he could have company in his pity party. “First Flint started babbling about his excruciatingly ordinary job as a financial consultant,” he drawled. “Like I care what to invest in, I’m so rich already, it was really terrible conversation.”

   “Poor baby. Your life is so hard.”

   Draco ignored the sarcasm and decided to take that seriously. “Yes it is. Anyway, he’s going on and on about the price of buying a dittany farm versus selling dittany when the food arrived and he started—I kid you not—putting catsup on everything. Everything, Harry. I watched a grown man put catsup on asparagus.”

   Harry visibly winced. He knew Draco well enough to know that cold tomatoes were the bane of his existence. The very sight of them made Draco ill, and as much as Harry liked to tease Draco, his shrill cries about how disgusting catsup was forced Harry to remove all related products from the flat.

   “And then this prick has the nerve to tell me he was ‘glad my father chose him’ like this was a damned arranged marriage as he slurps his fucking catsup.” Draco shuddered. That image would haunt him more than anything Voldemort had ever done to him.

   “But you escaped,” Harry reminded him as if he were talking one of his friends from the Battle of Hogwarts through a war flashback.

   “He tried to put his foot up against mine under the table and scared the living shit out of me, so as a reflex I kicked him and ran,” Draco nodded solemnly.

   Incredible. “Good,” Harry decided. “You stuck him with the bill.”

   “Ha! I hadn’t even thought of that. I’m a terrible date,” Draco reminisced fondly, a montage of him sprinting towards the exit of the restaurant flashing before his eyes as Flint’s dull, empty eyes were focused on his tomato-coated aspargus.

   Harry nodded in agreement. “You are a terrible date, but I’m just glad this one didn’t end in me having to wear ear-plugs tonight.” It was a mutual agreement that being sexiled was bad roommate manners, so they both had charmed headphones that silenced the world around them.

   “I doubt you even wear those ear-plugs,” Draco snarked. “The sex I have? You’d want to be hearing it.” He got up to begin his nightly routine upon saying that, reminded of how fantastic he looked with less clothing on.

   Draco loved his body. What was wrong with that? Nothing, in his humble opinion. Draco yanked off his shirt and shed his trousers on the way to his room and magicked them into the laundry bin without a single care that all Harry had to do was turn around to get a front-row seat to a strip-show.

   It was probably one of the more innocent states of disrobe that Harry had caught Draco in. Harry had a nasty habit of ‘accidentally’ walking in on Draco’s shenanigans, and as wild as it was to admit, sometimes Harry didn’t wear his charmed headphones.

   Draco was hot, Harry justified. Harry was living with a hot man, it was only natural that he would look to the closest available person if he ever got lonely or horny—which was almost always. There was no way he could sustain a _relationship_ with Draco. No way.

   Harry listened to the rustle of Draco pulling some pyjama pants on in the spirit of politeness, however, before getting up to brush his teeth in their shared bathroom.

   Draco’s products took up about eighty percent of the space in their bathroom, and Harry had just taken to using them himself. Draco had better taste in colognes than he did in men, but Harry only borrowed the shampoo and soap. He never got why Draco needed conditioner, dry conditioner, hairspray, exfoliating cream, and potions of mysterious origins to keep clean, but whatever he was using worked.

   Oh, Harry really had to stop thinking about how Draco looked. Alas, Draco never stopped thinking about how Draco looked.

   “It’s like,” Draco began as he butted in next to Harry to grab his jar of face mask. Soft skin was more important than looking manly in every single situation imaginable to Draco. “Is my father out of his mind? Flint may be wealthy, but he looks like a lumberjack who hasn’t bathed since the nineties. That, and he’s too tall.”

   “You and height,” Harry sighed, putting his toothbrush back in the holder.

   “I like blokes who are shorter than me,” Draco sighed, exasperated. “It is one of my big requirements and I am not going to let you trivialize that.”

   “Everything about you is trivial.”

   “Everything about you is gay.”

   “Fair point.”

   Draco finished applying the mask and waited for it to dry the customary ten minutes, hopping up to sit on the counter of the bathroom to watch Harry attempt to comb his hair. “You’re lying if you say you don’t think about height,” Draco told him. “You’re about three feet tall, and you so have a preference for men who are tall but don’t tower over you.”

   “I’m five-foot five!” Harry practically squawked in his defense.

   “Three. Feet. Tall.”

   “You’re impossible.”

   Draco offered him a small smile, one that wouldn’t crack his face mask. “Then you can date Flint. I know how you like my sloppy seconds.”

   Oh, now Harry knew Draco was on the warpath. Draco always knew what buttons to push, even when he didn’t hate Harry. Harry had been aghast when Draco first teased him as a friend before realizing it was much, much different from what Draco did to him at school. It was odd, but after some observation of the way Draco joked with his friends—Theo, Pansy, Blaise—they were all harshly cruel with one another in jest.

   The entire thing was about radical acceptance, said Theo. If you owned everything you did from your worst decisions to your most grating personality traits, they were never a surprise when they were brought up in an argument. You held all the cards that your opponent intended to use against you.

   And oh, did those Slytherins ever get in arguments.

   “It was one time,” Harry recalled calmly, imagining himself holding that card tightly in his hand. “And I hadn’t even known you two used to date when I slept with him.”

   Draco shrugged. “Still my sloppy seconds and not that great of a cocksucker.”

   “He really wasn’t,” he nodded in agreement. “But he was nice.”

   “Oh, Harry. One day you’re going to marry a man who you think is ‘nice’ and he’s going to let himself go halfway into the marriage. You’re going to have dreadful sex that feels like work until it just stops one day,” Draco lamented. “You really have to get over this ‘nice bloke’ kick.”

   “And go on your ‘unreliable-and-spiteful bloke’ kick?”

   “The sex is fabulous—and you know how I hesitate to use that word since it sounds so stereotypical.” Draco already gave off enough of a gay vibe.

   Draco hopped off the counter to start washing his face mask off and Harry thought about the mystical idea of a man that was both kind and gave fantastic head, often referred to as ‘The One’ in romantic movies.

   “Do you think you could have both?” Harry asked wistfully.

   “Hm?” The other man was busy patting his face dry and the green tea scent of the mask wafted over to Harry.

   “Great sex with a kind and genuine man.”

   Draco gave him an enigmatic look. “I want to think I could have both, yeah.”

   “Yeah,” Harry nodded in agreement. He wasn’t sure what Draco was thinking when he said that, but when was Harry ever sure of what Draco was thinking?

   Harry wasn’t even sure what he was thinking. There was a certain sadness in Draco’s voice when he spoke about not having found a man to both love and shag that made Harry wish Draco had someone special in his life. That was the kind of thing friends wished other friends had, right?

   It’d get Lucius off of Draco’s back, at least.

   The sadness that Harry had picked up on at first seemed to grow in the pit of Draco’s stomach. He held the towel he’d used to dry off his face with clenched fists. Draco really did have bad taste in men, didn’t he? His own father had given up on his ability to find his soulmate or whatever, too.

   Oh, hell. Draco felt pathetic. He could feel Flint’s scuffed shoe trying to make its way up his leg like it had earlier that day with a piercing sensation of violation.

   Harry was about to get out of the bathroom for some much-needed rest when he noticed things had only gotten worse with Draco. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

   “Everything,” Draco offered.

   “I’ll get the chocolate.”

xxx

   The tradition of talking things over with a bowl of chocolate drops between then had begun the week they’d moved into the apartment.

   There was no easy way to describe what had happened. Plagued by Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and stuck with memories of a war Harry had never wanted to fight in, Harry woke up screaming.

   Draco, thinking there was an intruder attacking, rushed to his aid with wand in-hand. After the war he’d gone through his own trials and tribulations in being an ex-Death Eater. People vandalized wherever he lived, threw insults at him in the streets, and a few extreme cases involved attacks in darkened alleys.

   There was no room for the cowardice Draco had been able to display under his mother’s wing during the war in the real world when she wasn’t there to protect him.

   So he rushed to Harry’s room ready to take on whoever was attacking him or the people he cared about only to find Harry was completely alone and drenched in sweat.

   Instead of mocking him mercilessly as Harry had expected, Draco didn’t even crack a single joke. He got Harry some chocolate and a cold glass of water and sat at the foot of his bed until Harry finished both. Then, he admitted to having the nightmares too.

   And according to Draco, so did his friends. Every life that Voldemort touched festered with fear in dark corners. The whole world had been affected by him, even the children of his supporters.

   That was when Draco told Harry about what it was like to live in Malfoy Manor under Tom Riddle’s reign, a side of the war Harry had never heard before.

   When Draco wasn’t hurling insults he was a surprisingly insightful man, and they had talked until the sun shone through Harry’s window.

   Ever since then, they’d been each other’s confidants in times of need.

   Pansy was judgmental when Draco called her for help, and Harry always felt awkward bothering Ron and Hermione in all of their marital bliss (the term ‘third wheel’ didn’t even begin to cover how uncomfortable he felt), so the odd pair of Draco and Harry was sort of perfect for divulging secrets to one another.

   With Draco sitting cross-legged on his bed—sheets of green, of course, his room was a more grown-up and Victorian version of the Slytherin commonroom—he used his wand to turn the fairy lights down to a low-light that would keep Draco awake without hurting his eyes.

   Harry had piled up some of Draco’s pillows including the stuffed dragon that Harry was sworn to secrecy about the existence of (his name was Maurice and Narcissa had given it to Draco when he turned three) to rest on.

   Stuffie in-hand, Harry toyed with his big black button eyes while he spoke to Draco. “I’m guessing this is about more than one shitty date?”

   “Maybe,” Draco laughed sardonically before popping a piece of chocolate in his mouth. “It’s about all the shitty dates I’ve ever had.”

   “You’ve had plenty of them, too.”

   “Even the first date I ever went on was stupid,” Draco sighed. “And not in a ‘he took me to the wrong place’ sort of way.”

   Harry had never heard the story of Draco’s first ever date. “Who was it with?”

   “A boy I met one summer in Diagon Alley. It was the summer after fourth year and my father gave me access to a small account where I got an allowance every week so I could go shopping with my friends. I’d come out to Pansy after the Yule Ball so she urged me to flirt with blokes and all that,” Draco recalled. “I flirted with one who finally didn’t look at me like a freak and we set up a date at an ice-cream shop. Things were going well until his father barged over and screamed at him for being a fag.”

   “Shit.”

   “At least the father didn’t lash out at me,” Draco muttered. He was self-preserving like that. “But the kid—Tony, that was his name—never owled me back when I tried to find out if he was okay. I didn’t blame him.”

   Carefully, Harry searched for an upside to that. “It wasn’t your fault, at least,” he tried.

   Draco arched an eyebrow.

   “What?” Harry asked innocently. “You’re acting like the problem with your love life is you. It’s not. It’s outside forces or the fault of the douchebags you date.”

   “The first boyfriend I had left me and it was so my fault,” Draco asserted.

   Knowing how much Draco liked prim and orderly lists, Harry summoned a notebook and pen. Draco made a face that it wasn’t a quill, but Harry ignored it. “We’re going to make a chart,” Harry decided.

   That piqued Draco’s interest. He tried to get a peek at what Harry was writing, but Harry quickly snatched the notebook away. “Hey!” Draco whined.

   “Come on, trust me here,” Harry requested with a strange sense of urgency. “If we’re going to prove anything then we need some documentation. Like an autopsy on your old relationships.” ‘Autopsy’ was a harsh word, but Harry couldn’t turn his Auror brain off sometimes. “Then I can show you for sure it’s not you.”

   Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re a shit inspector,” he decided. “You’ve picked what you wanted the result to be before you’ve even compiled the facts. Did you learn nothing in that Auror training or were you just drooling over the instructor who showed you how to use cuffs?”

   “Hey. I’ve had experience with this case before.”

   “So now I’m a case?”

   “Merlin’s beard, Draco. Quit being difficult and start at the beginning.” Harry clicked the pen open and pressed the tip to the page. “What happened with your first boyfriend?”

   Considering it was all his fault, Draco was loath to describe every crippling detail, but he knew what happened with Harry when he set his mind to something. There was no escaping whatever cocked-up plan the raven-haired man had cooked up.

   He sighed. “Alright,” Draco muttered. “But if you—“

   “I know, I know. Draco, I haven’t told anyone about the coffee table incident and that had me laughing for thirty minutes straight. I’m not going to tell anyone about this.”

   Draco scowled. He was not fond of being reminded of his embarrassing moments, especially when Harry Potter had been there to witness them and laugh at them, and Draco was not a particularly trusting man. “I’m just warning you,” he muttered.

   “Consider me warned.”

   “You’re such an arse,” Draco huffed. He let a chocolate drop melt in his mouth before deciding to speak again. Draco really was lucky to have a friend who was alright with waiting.

   “His name was Kristian,” he started. “And he was from Durmstrang. We’d exchanged addresses to send letters in the spirit of international acceptance or whatever nonsense Dumbledore was forcing down our throats at the time.”

   Harry rolled his eyes but wrote Kristian’s name down anyway.

   “After we exchanged some owls he asked me to be his boyfriend and I said ‘yes’ because I really had no other options at the time. I suppose that was where I first screwed up, just being with him because he wanted to be with me. Anyway, it lasted for about a month until I… Well.”

   “ _Draco_.”

   “I was brainwashed as a kid, okay? I’m not proud of what I did or said in Hogwarts,” Draco defended.

   “So what vile and purist crap did you spew at him?” Harry didn’t even need to ask if it was about purebloods versus muggleborns. He’d been in school with Draco at the height of his bigotry and had seen the man say some frankly disgusting things.

   Draco sighed. “I don’t remember exactly what it was, but it had to do with ‘mudbloods’ not being true wizards or something.”

   Harry made a face and groaned.

   “I didn’t know any better!” Draco defended again. “But he did. Kristian got mad, I accused him of being a blood-traitor, and he sent one last owl telling me I needed stop being such a prejudiced arse. He was right.”

   “Yes, he was,” Harry nodded before scribbling something down next to Kristian’s name on the list.

   Draco employed a majority of his willpower to not grabbing the paper to see what Harry had written. He swallowed back the urge. “Then I hit a dry spell for obvious reasons. I slept with some men once or twice, lost my virginity to a stranger in a bar after being informed my family would be slaughtered if I didn’t follow orders. It wasn’t until two years after the war that anyone would even consider doing more than fucking me.”

   That sounded like a big blow to Draco’s self-esteem. All Harry could image was some unworthy bastard feeling Draco up with firewhiskey on his breath. Had that man even known who Draco was? Had that man known that the boy he seduced was underage? Harry held his anger towards this faceless man tightly in his fist before moving on. “Who was your first boyfriend after the war?”

   “Nate,” Draco said with a bitter tinge to the name. “I met him at a club, he had hazel eyes, and I thought things were changing for me.” Admitting that made Draco feel weak, but Harry and his Gryffindor Word had promised not to reveal what a miserable fuck Draco could be about romance.

   “What happened?”

   “Caught him in bed with a go-go boy.” From the very club they’d met at, too.

   “What? You’re hotter than any go-go boy could dream of being!” Harry protested in a burst of outrage.

   Draco raised an eyebrow when Harry backed off of his strong compliment with a pink tinge to his cheeks. “Thanks,” Draco said with a strange smile.

   “S’true. That’s all,” Harry muttered without looking up from his notepad. The crush he harbored for Draco felt like it was flowering in the pit of his stomach. “Um. Go on.”

   “Right. So I broke up with him and he tried to get me back for a few weeks which were honestly torturous, but then he finally gave up on me ever coming around and I went back to sleeping around. The next bloke I dated was Thomas, this sweet, handsome lawyer.”

   That sounded like an improvement and Harry felt suddenly uncomfortable with Draco complimenting other men. Harry liked it when he did something simple for Draco and got those big, shimmering grey eyes looking back to him and saying, ‘ _such a sweetheart’._ It felt like a compliment reserved for Harry alone. “What went wrong with him?” Harry was eager to know.

   Draco didn’t pick up on the urgency in his voice, thankfully. “He was a family man,” Draco sighed. “His parents wanted nothing more than grandchildren and a daughter-in-law so he wasn’t even out to them. We had to keep things secretive and he never really stopped feeling guilty about ‘letting his parents down’ or whatever. I’d dealt with that when I was fifteen and told him to get the hell over it like I did, which he really didn’t appreciate.”

   Once again Harry felt a rushing sensation in his trachea that urged him to compliment Draco, to assure him that things like that were out of his control. Fearing he’d already tipped Draco off on the growing seed of attraction he had for him, Harry pushed on and focused on writing on the paper. “Next bloke?”

   “He was the first I said the Three Words of Death to.” Those words, of course, being ‘I love you’. “His name was Patrick and he was a florist, so the flowers definitely helped.”

   Whenever a man sent flowers up to the flat for Draco, Draco would have this giddy smile all day long. Draco liked to say he thought himself amazing and wonderful, but it was really when other people thought of him as amazing and wonderful that he truly believed it.

   “Promptly after I said those Words he informed me that I was becoming too high-maintenance for him. Patrick was apparently not looking for ‘anything serious’ despite the numerous bouquets he sent me and the many nights he spent at my flat,” Draco huffed. That was why he was so loath to be the first to say ‘I love you’, Harry supposed. “He was the first man who ever let me Dom for him, though. So that started a streak that still hasn’t ended.”

   Oh, Harry knew that all too well. Draco clad in leather often popped up in his wet dreams.

   “And you pretty much know what happened after that. Sex clubs, fantastic orgies, submissive men at my beck and call,” Draco reminisced fondly. It had been really wonderful at the time.

   “And then you met me at London Pride.”

   “I was there with one of my subs,” Draco nodded. “Louis, I think. I remember giving him a nice whipping for the way he looked at you when we saw you on the street.”

   Harry had never heard that story and he couldn’t disguise his interest. “Oh?”

   “You’re so horny for it,” Draco sighed. “What about your past boyfriends? Were none of them good in bed?” Harry always seemed to be wrapped in fantasy than actual great sex, especially when Draco was the one talking about the fantasy and he was sitting wide-eyed in his bed.

   “They were alright,” Harry defended this time. They were nice men. They were the sort that introduced Harry to their parents. “But hey! This is not about me. This is about you.”

   “But you know everything that came after that. Henry cheated, Eric had a drinking problem, Clyde broke it off in fear of meeting my father, Jim kept everything bottled up and was never honest with me, and you know about all the men I slept with in between them. I slept with a bloke last week and had a ‘date’ with Flint today,” Draco told him neatly as if his insane sex life could truly be summed up in a few sentences.

   Harry sighed. He remembered Jim very well since it was the first boyfriend Draco had really introduced to Harry after they’d moved in together—the rest of the men were a revolving door of strange sex that Draco never bothered introducing to Harry. Harry had never liked Jim. He got bad vibes from him.

   “So.” Draco forward curiously to see what Harry had written on the paper. “What’s your autopsy reveal?”

   Putting down the notepad, Harry let Draco see all of his incoherent scribbling. “It reveals that the men you’ve dated are idiots.”

   “Harry,” Draco sighed exasperatedly. The notes were scrambled at best and Draco was really beginning to wonder how Harry ever got hired as an Auror.

   “I mean it,” Harry pushed on. “They were idiots when they gave up on you, they were idiots when they were unfaithful, and they were idiots when they didn’t treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”

   Harry’s green eyes had been lit like the flames in the Slytherin commonroom. Draco couldn’t stop staring into them. “And how exactly do I deserve to be treated?” he questioned quietly.

   “With respect,” Harry said as if it were obvious. “You should be valued by the men you date and they should know that they’re lucky to have you.”

   “Tell that to them,” Draco laughed with a forced smile. In spite of all his eccentricities and demands in every other aspect of his life, Draco had never really demanded what he wanted from a boyfriend outside of the bedroom.

   “No,” Harry said suddenly. “I won’t tell them. They should know. If they don’t know how special you are right from the beginning then you shouldn’t waste your time with them.”

   Draco blinked, temporarily stunned silent by the fervor in Harry’s voice. Without thinking, he closed the space between them with a hard kiss.

   “Oh, fuck.” Draco almost immediately pulled away. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“ Harry had just been saying such kind things, looking at him with such beautiful eyes…

   Whatever bizarre force had been stopping Harry from seeing Draco as a romantic partner—whether it was the fear of Draco rejecting him or something more deeply rooted—had seemingly vanished.

   This time it was Harry’s turn to haul Draco in for a kiss, burying his hands in that gorgeous, soft blonde hair he’d always dreamed of touching.

   Draco gasped into his mouth before fully realizing what was happening and riding that train all the way to hell.

   He launched himself on top of Harry, sending the pen and paper tumbling off of the bed while his hands grasped blindly at Harry’s waist. Draco held him down and held him close, dizzy from how passionately Harry had reciprocated the kiss in the first place.

   And oh, how Harry’s mouth fell open with a flick of Draco’s tongue. Draco didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, greedily lapping at the roof of Harry’s mouth.

   The most delicious moan came from Harry beneath him, and Draco was thrilled that he’d found a weak-spot so early on in… Well. Whatever this was.

   “I don’t just want to fuck you,” Harry blurted out suddenly, eliciting a look of embarrassed shock on Draco’s face. “I mean, I would love, love, love to shag you right now. That would be so perfect. What I’m saying is that I want more, Draco.” Draco hadn’t even really agreed to this yet and Harry wanted more. “I want to be the one that treats you right.”

   Draco’s stomach did a backflip. “If this is just because you feel bad for me—“

   “It’s not!”

   “Then how long have you wanted to shag me?”

   “Draco,” Harry growled in frustration. “Have you ever even met yourself? Everything you touch turns Technicolor; you make the world so much more wonderful to be in with your humor and your way of thinking. You’ve changed so much from when we first met, you’ve overcome so much. It’s fucking astounding.”

   “Astounding?” Draco asked with a wild grin.

   “Astounding,” Harry echoed.

   Draco drank the sight of Harry in, his messy black hair laid out against Draco’s sheets. “You realize once we do this that there’s no going back, right?”

    “I know.”

   “You realize I’m going to expect a lot more from you than from the morons who came before you, right?” There was no way Draco was receding back into men that didn’t respect him. Harry had been so, so right.

   “I know,” Harry said again, hand sliding up one of Draco’s arms that kept him pinned to the bed. Draco’s skin was like sculpted smooth marble, and Harry had been dreaming of truly touching it for so long. He ran his hand up and down Draco’s arm in tender strokes. “Be with me.”

   Draco’s ‘yes’ came in the form of Draco’s fist closing around the front of Harry’s pyjama shirt and closing the space in between them again.

   Harry groaned, arching his back up to get even closer to Draco. The dreams he’d had on his own about Draco weren’t even on the same plane as actually being with him.

   When Draco shoved his hand down the front of Harry’s pants he thought he was going to lose it right then and there, but coming within the first minute of a sexual encounter would definitely have Draco laughing at him.

   He screwed his eyes shut and Draco didn’t waste any time. He palmed the head of his cock before pressing his thumb nail up against the slit. Harry squirmed helplessly beneath him, still silenced by Draco’s kiss. The noises that did manage to get out were however rather encouraging.

   Draco’s other hand yanked down his pants when he got tired of the constricting space. Harry Potter was now putty in his hands, hard already. Draco broke their kiss only to grin devilishly, since Harry certainly hadn’t been the only one who’d dreamt about being with his roommate before.

   Boyfriend now, wasn’t it?

   Draco left Harry’s shirt on, more focused at the task at hand. There would be countless nights to explore every inch of his body, to see what spots made him whimper and to hear how he liked to be spanked and talked dirty to, but this was a frenzy. Draco was on a mission to make Harry come, to make his eyes roll back into his head and show him what being with Draco Malfoy was really like.

   “Draco,” Harry panted out. His lips were red from where Draco had nibbled on them and Draco wondered if he could get Harry to pose for some pictures looking like that some time so he’d always have it to wank over, but that would come later.

   Harry reached to pull Draco’s pants down to his knees in hopes of reciprocating before Draco took both of their cocks in his hand and stroked them in tandem.

   Harry cried out, his hands quickly wrapping around Draco’s shoulders instead.

   Hips rocking up, Harry thrust into the hole Draco had formed with his hand with a feverish moan. Draco’s cock pressed up against his inside that hole only drove him wilder.

   “Like it?” Draco asked coyly before tightening his grip in a squeeze around the both of them.

   “Yes,” Harry managed. “Yes, yes, yes. Kiss me, you son of a—“

   Draco gladly cut him off to bite down on Harry’s lower lip, tearing a keen from him.

   “You really like it, hm?” Draco said between faltering breaths. Harry was bigger than he’d expected, and his body even more responsive. “Then why don’t you make a mess in my bed for me?”

   Harry groaned, feeling Draco’s forehead rest on his as what had to be the hottest thing ever said was said to Harry fucking Potter, who was already a lucky man with his prick being rubbed by Draco fucking Malfoy.

   “Yes,” Harry whined. “Draco—“

   In what would have normally been an embarrassingly quick time, Harry came and made that mess Draco had asked for. As his body lit up with sensations and sparks of pleasure, he emptied himself all over Draco’s hands, sheets, and his own shirt. Why hadn’t he taken his shirt off?

   Draco was about to finish himself off when Harry found the strength to roll them both over so he was on top. “Wait,” he rasped, glasses askew and hair a complete mess.

   “Waiting,” Draco replied impatiently.

   Harry laughed. He couldn’t help it, Draco just looked so petulant when he wanted something and wanted it immediately, like a spoiled kid.

   Still, Harry was going to going to exceed the pampered prince’s expectations. He crawled down Draco’s body until he could run the tip of his tongue up Draco’s cock, making small circles around a vein.

   Draco moaned, hands flying to grasp at Harry’s hair and push him down.

   “So impatient,” Harry chuckled again before taking Draco in his mouth and humming around his length. Harry took Draco in inch by dedicated inch, his tongue still pressing down against him. Just to drive him crazy, Harry grazed his front teeth over Draco’s shaft.

   With a surprised yelp, Draco tightened his grip on Harry’s hair and thrust up blindly into his mouth. Fuck, he could only imagine how incredible it would be to shove himself into Harry’s arse. He could tie Harry up, force Harry to watch himself be penetrated, make him tell Draco how much he loved it.

   “Harry!” The wet, warm cavern of Harry’s mouth and the combined plans for the future did Draco in. He came on those lovely red lips of Harry’s and swelled with pride when Harry licked his lips and swallowed it down.

   Harry wanted the taste of Draco to never leave his mouth, as completely factually disgusting as that was. Anyone in their right mind would expel somebody else’s bodily fluids, but Harry couldn’t get enough.

   Smiling wide, Harry found his way back up to eye level with Draco and collapsed onto the bed.

   Draco turned his head to the side to look at the other man, a smile of his own coming on strong.

   Using his thumb, Draco wiped away a bit of come from the corner of Harry’s mouth that he’d missed and set down Harry’s glasses on the bed. “Messy boy,” Draco cooed. He helped Harry out of his shirt as well, licking his own lips when he saw Harry’s bare chest.

   “Per your request.”

   Draco grinned. “Of course.” He pressed his mouth up against Harry’s shoulder when he wrapped an arm around him, so Draco’s words were a little garbled.

   Pleasantly surprised by Draco’s post-coital cuddling, Harry hitched his leg around Draco’s waist to keep them close. “Mm.”

   “You really are sweet.”

   “I try,” Harry nodded before giving Draco a kiss on the temple. The whole idea of being ‘sweet’ was sticking with him somehow… And then he remembered the bowl of chocolate drops to their left.

   Draco followed Harry’s gaze curiously before breaking out into another signature Malfoy grin. “Hungry for more?”

   “ _Starving_.”

   Draco grabbed the bowl before with the intention letting Harry eat every piece off of his naked body.

   Maybe they could have romance and great sex all at once, but first they’d have chocolate.


End file.
